Mortadella madness? No, it’s just baloney.

There has been rampant insanity in The Desert Advocate office this past week. I should have seen the signs, as most people who have dealt with insanity or religious fanaticism will tell you–it rarely happens overnight. It usually begins as a notion, not unlike a small tumor, gradually feeding off the host until reaching a twisted crescendo, a growth of  unimaginable size.

The object of all this madness? The odd, bastardized version of mortadella–olive loaf. 

For some inexplicable reason, my coworkers have gone utterly bonkers over this indelible delicatessen “delicacy.”

For those unfamiliar with mortadella, it is an Italian cold cut originally created in Bologna. It consists of finely ground pork and is seasoned with nutmeg, coriander, pepper corns, myrtle berries and often studded with pistachio nuts.

Olive loaf, as far as I can tell, is standard‑issue, American bologna embedded with pimento‑stuffed olives of questionable quality.  The appeal? I can’t say I understand the source of my office mates’ exuberance.

Four of my coworkers lunch on olive loaf sandwiches at least three times per week. It’s revolting.

They’ve gone so far as to threaten to form their own religion based on the bologna‑like “meat” product.

Instead of Christmas they’ll have Festivus for Olivus; they’ll hold “mass” in the deli section of Basha’s in Carefree; and they already have a saint to call their own–St. Pimento, whose life was too short on the vine, who sacrificed herself for the perpetuation of mediocre deli meat for all.

I suggested this wacky group might adopt a secret handshake, collect dues rather than tithing and then they might reach mysterious Freemason status. They’re parting words, I advised, should be au livoir. Instead of wine during communion, they could sip dirty martinis–a nice gin tinted with a trickle of olive juice.

And, as is typical within nearly any organized group, no matter how much they have in common, they still find something to disagree about. In the case of these loaf lovers, it’s condiments they squabble over: whether mustard or mayo or both, or perhaps not mayo at all but Miracle Whip. These heated debates can last the entire lunch hour, all while they’re stuffing their faces with the dreaded deli meat. Isn’t there a way for olivus to just get along?

I would call it more of a cult than a religion. But the truly freaky thing? They are not alone. I found many an homage to olive loaf on the Internet, including an olive loaf screen saver, recipes for how to make an olive loaf sandwich (Hello! Bread, olive loaf and mayonnaise.), and one woman posted photos of a cape she crocheted resembling olive loaf. This same woman knitted a Swiss cheese scarf and a corn dog shawl. I located an artist who created a wall sculpture entitled, “The Saint Dymphna‑Harley Davidson‑Olive Loaf Shrine and Beer Bottle Opener.” Yes, there are other olive loaf weirdos beyond the confines of the Advocate’s office walls.